


tomorrow

by orphan_account



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Percival has feelings, sandalphon (cameo ver)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 01:03:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15763431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When was it, then, that Percival had realized he could not imagine being lord of a kingdom where Gran was not at his side?





	tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> i’m a mess. this fic is a mess. sorry if u spot any mistakes no beta final destination

The more Percival spends time with Gran and his crew, the less able he becomes at deluding himself into thinking that he is simply here so they may support him as his vassals. He finds himself enjoying their trips and Gran’s insolent teasing, the constant back-and-forth between him and the crew.

 

“Percy-san.”

 

Percival jerks up from his thoughts to find Gran standing just a bit above him on the quarterdeck of the Grandcypher. “Think fast.”

 

Too slow to anticipate an object heading directly towards him, he ends up taking something hard directly to the face. Barely managing to prevent the object from hitting the deck, Percival levels a glare at Gran, who is clearly trying to keep a straight face. “Vassal! What is the meaning of this?”

 

“Sorry. I thought you would catch it, my lord,” Gran replies, voice wavering with suppressed mirth and finally dissolving into laughter. Percival makes an indignant noise at this affront, which only seems to make Gran laugh harder as he leans against the sides of the airship for support.

 

“Bread roll,” Gran tells him after his laughter has subsided. Percival frowns at him, trying to decipher some hidden message from within Gran’s nonsensical statement, but a glance down at the now-crushed bread roll in his hands elucidates the meaning of Gran’s words. He gives Gran a questioning look. “You looked like you had something on your mind, so I didn’t want to interrupt and ask if you wanted to come down and have breakfast.”

 

Percival sighs. “You interrupted me regardless.” Gran gives him an apologetic look.

 

“Sorry. Just thought you should eat before we get moving today.”

 

Gran looks down at him with something like concern in his eyes. If Percival is at all touched by the gesture, he certainly does not show it. “Very well.” He pauses to examine the bread roll in his hand, all but destroyed from the surprise of having it suddenly tossed his direction. “I believe this roll is unfit for my consumption, however.” 

 

“I don’t think I would eat that even if it wasn’t crushed,” Gran says. “Found it lying on the floor of the storeroom,” he elaborates at the look on Percival’s face.

 

“Why would you toss an inedible bread roll at me?”

 

A shrug. “I wanted one that was hard enough to get your attention.”

 

“So you did intend to hit me,” Percival notes flatly. Another apologetic look, though Percival detects a distinct note of amusement in Gran’s eyes.

 

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. It’s hard to get your attention when you get lost in your head.”

 

Percival tilts his head. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

 

“You’ve been sitting up here for a while now. Everyone that’s up already went back down to eat.”

 

“That was on purpose. I only wished to remain up here so I could have a quiet place to think,” Percival explains. Gran just smiles slightly and says nothing, jumping down the raised platform and walking up to Percival’s side. He touches Percival’s armored arm lightly.

 

“Want to come with me to the mess hall?”

 

“I suppose I have no choice in the matter,” Percival replies, and Gran just grins at him. He turns heel and walks swiftly towards the mess hall, head lifted high as he pretends not to notice Gran’s pleased humming from his side.

 

* * *

 

 

“What were you thinking about back there?” Gran asks, after they have been comfortably situated at the table. His voice is slightly raised; Lyria, from across the table, is noisily wolfing down a massive pile of food, of which both would offer to help finish if they weren’t certain that she could easily inhale five times the amount.

 

“I wanted to go observe a neighboring town. I hear their infrastructure is one of the most well-kept in Phantagrande,” Percival responds. Strictly speaking, it’s true that he was considering a visit; his thoughts simply got sidetracked right before Gran had so boldly accosted him with stale goods.

 

Lyria makes a high-pitched noise around the chunk of meat she is chewing. “Thath sounds like so muth fun! Can I come thoo?” Little flecks of sauce litter the corners of her mouth. Percival would be disgusted, but by now, he is thoroughly acquainted with Lyria’s distinct eating habits. It doesn’t stop him from making a disapproving sound, however.

 

“Aren’t we going to go out with Zeta today?” Djeeta interjects from her spot next to Lyria. She, too, is scarfing down her food, albeit with slightly less gusto than Lyria beside her.

 

“Oh no! You’re right,” Lyria exclaims, swallowing whole a piece of meat so large Percival feels rather than sees Gran cringe next to him. “I’m sorry, Percival-san!”

 

“I didn’t invite you in the first place, so it’s fine,” Percival replies, looking away. His gaze happens to fall on the primarch Sandalphon a few seats away, calmly taking a sip of coffee with his eyes fixed on the massive pile of food distributed between the Djeeta and Lyria combo. His expression is unreadable. As if sensing the eyes on him, he turns his gaze to Percival. He raises an eyebrow, though in commiseration or in disinterest, Percival cannot tell, and then takes another measured sip.

 

“Are you guys going shopping?” Gran asks, jerking Percival away from the odd exchange.

 

Djeeta’s mouth twists into a wicked grin. “Nah. Monster hunting.” Percival finds himself nodding with approval. Culling the monster population keeps citizens safe, and to say Djeeta makes quick work of them would be an insulting understatement. “Sorry, Percival-san,” she adds.

 

Percival doesn’t understand why they both have immediately assumed they were extended an unwritten invitation simply by Percival stating his plans. “No matter. I was planning to go by myself regardless.”

 

“I can go with you,” Gran offers. “I don’t have anything planned today.”

 

That is a lie, and they both know it. At any given time, Gran is overloaded with offers of work or requests for help, and Percival knows that this will delay his search for his father further. Gran is also, however, impressively stubborn. Declining his offer, as Percival has learned, would not be productive. 

 

“I have no need for protection. The area is quite safe,” Percival says, regardless, and of course Gran’s eyes fill with determination. 

 

“I know. I just want to see it with you. There could be a lot to learn.”

 

Percival heaves a sigh, though it is clear even to him that it is more for appearances than out of any particular disinclination towards Gran accompanying him. “Very well. It is your duty as my vassal, after all.”

 

“Right.” Gran grins, taking one last bite of the eggs on his plate, then making towards the doorway. “I’ll let Rackam know.”

 

As Gran exists the mess hall, Percival is struck with the sudden realization that envisioning a visit to the city without Gran at his side feels somehow foreign to him, despite all his solo travels. It is quite odd.

 

He reaches for the basket of bread rolls across the table.

 

* * *

 

 

The Grancypher lets them off at a snowy valley. Rackam and Katalina wave from the departing airship, yelling for them to have fun. Gran smiles and waves back while Percival shakes his head disapprovingly. They are here to observe, not to enjoy themselves. He turns to Gran, opening his mouth to voice these thoughts, and finds Gran spinning around in the gentle snowfall in an uncharacteristic display of whimsy. His eyes are closed, nose scrunched up at the shock of cold. Percival observes for a few moments, something indescribable stirring in his chest at the sight. Is this really the same boy that tears through monsters, that has fought countless towering primal beasts and shadowy creatures?

 

Gran seems to notice Percival watching him, since he straightens up suddenly and returns to Percival’s side with haste. His face is flushed red, though Percival cannot tell whether it is due to the cold or the embarrassment of Percival observing him. “The town is over there,” Percival informs him in lieu of commenting on it, pointing across the valley to a faraway cluster of buildings. A few watermills are scattered across the snowy land. Mountains encircle the valley, their peaks reaching upwards towards the gray sky, while smoke from the city plumes outward from tiny chimneys dotting rooftops. The sight is arresting. He finds himself almost understanding Gran’s sudden playfulness.

 

“Let’s get going, then,” Gran suggests, rubbing the back of his head in a feeble attempt to brush off some snowflakes. Percival nods his assent.

 

After a while of walking in comfortable silence, Gran begins talking unprompted about the crew’s adventures in Percival’s absence, recounting unbelievable tales involving eels and robots. Conversation flows easily; Percival offers his comments on each situation, clicking his tongue with disgust at some of the more egregious acts of carelessness on the behalf of town mayors or at their run-ins with the mafia. He questions Gran’s tale about being turned into a monster; Gran responds by spreading his arms and legs in a pose somewhat resembling a starfish or perhaps a half-complete jumping jack.

 

In return, Percival tells Gran about his time in Feendrache, about Lancelot and Vane and their misadventures as new recruits, of Vane’s initial respectable attempts at cooking and Lancelot’s horrifying ones. Gran prods Percival until he is forced to recount his own culinary misadventures, of almost setting the kitchen on fire with mishandled fire. Percival refuses to act out the scene for his one-man audience; Gran promises that he’ll get Percival in the airship’s kitchen one day. 

 

It seems like it takes just a few minutes to arrive at the town, though the walk should have taken much longer. 

 

“Where to?” Gran asks, idly tracing lines with his sword in the dirt. His eyes wander along the thatched rooftops, alight with hanging lanterns and strings of lights. Though his expression seems interested, his eyebrows are drawn, as if he is trying to recall something.

 

“I would like to observe the watermills here first; the town’s proximity to a natural flow of springwater from the mountains allows them to use it as a source of power.” Percival pauses at Gran’s expression, dazed with eyes out of focus. “Is something wrong?” 

 

“Hm?” Gran blinks, shaking his head. “Nothing.” 

 

“I can’t have my vassals dozing off,” Percival remarks.

 

“Like you did this morning?”

 

Percival clicks his tongue, frowning at Gran’s chuckles. “I was not dozing off. Merely thinking about my course of action from here on out.”

 

“Right,” Gran says teasingly. “Well, I’ll be with you regardless. Lead the way.”

 

True to form, they visit the watermills first, then move around the town and observe their markets and buildings. Gran is both observant and inquisitive about everything that they see, and Percival answers the questions he knows, asking the townspeople about the ones he doesn’t. Gran is oddly helpful in organizing Percival’s thoughts; he lets Percival note all the features he wishes to implement in his own kingdom and adds his own observations on occasion (and teases Percival when women stop him on the street and invite him in for a drink). 

 

Percival allows Gran (and himself) to indulge in exploring the shops that line the town’s streets as well. Gran picks out a pair of clip-on cat ears that he promises to force Percival to wear next Halloween, while Percival buys some sword polish for Lancelot and Siegfried and some small bento boxes for Vane.

 

By the time they venture out of the stores, several bags heavier and several thousand rupies lighter, night has fallen, and the streets are filled with the soft glow of streetlights and lanterns.

 

“I know why this place looks so familiar,” Gran blurts out suddenly, cutting off Percival’s speech on the importance of organized trade. “This is the place we drove those bandits away from, isn’t it?” Percival nods.

 

“It’s like a completely different place.”

 

It’s true; people line the streets, yelling children weaving around happy-looking families clad in warm clothing and boots. Percival takes in the scene for a few moments, finally broken from his focus when the winter clothes he sees remind him that Gran is only wearing his casual wear, breastplate abandoned for a thin vest. 

 

“Are you cold?” Percival demands. Gran blinks at the sudden question before shaking his head, but he’s avoiding Percival’s eyes. “I command you to give me your hand.”

 

Gran resists for a few moments before finally acquiescing, reluctantly offering up his hand for Percival’s inspection. Percival debates taking off his glove for a few moments before he settles on the faster alternative of pressing Gran’s hand up to his face. It’s ice cold. Gran shivers and tugs it back.

 

“Don’t be foolish. You should have told me you were cold.”

 

“It’s fine,” Gran insists. Percival resists the urge to sigh with frustration; here before him is a boy who has saved countless lives and kingdoms, refusing to admit that he is freezing in the winter chill.

 

“It is not fine. I can’t have you catching a cold while we’re here.”

 

“‘s my fault I didn’t wear enough clothes anyways,” Gran mumbles. “Really, I’m fine.”

 

“After making it this far, I am not going to let you live through world-destroying beasts only to fall victim to the common cold. Come, there’s a tavern across the street. You can warm up there.” 

 

Gran opens his mouth to protest, but at the Look Percival gives him, his mouth clicks shut, and he allows Percival to usher him across the street. Passing families stare at them as they cross. What a pair they must make, Percival realizes belatedly; the slightly sulking Gran and himself, clad in clothes more casual than his typical armor, yet finery nonetheless. They can gawk all they desire, Percival decides; what’s important is getting Gran warmed up.

 

The inside of the tavern is cozy, filled with chatter and townspeople alight with an orange glow cast by lanterns hung around the room. A soft, flickering fire crackles in the stone fireplace, its warmth sinking deep into Percival’s bones. He can feel Gran noticeably shiver with relief when the heat of the cavern hits them.

 

“I’ll have two cups of hot cocoa,” he informs the bartender, who seems to need a moment to process the sight of Percival and Gran standing on the other side of the counter before he disappears with a small nod. 

 

Any remaining fight in Gran seems to dissolve the second they settle in a little nook by the window; he sags against Percival’s side, eyes fluttering closed. Percival, unused to this kind of trust or affection from anyone, especially Gran, is lost for what to do. He decides on reaching an arm around Gran and gently rubbing his back, heart rising in his chest when Gran hums a soft noise of contentment.

 

After a long while of watching the townspeople chat and move about the tavern, a server comes carrying two mugs of hot chocolate. Percival acknowledges the girl with a nod, accepting the mugs, then gently nudges Gran. 

 

“Drink. You need to take care of yourself. I will not allow any vassal of mine to fall ill.” For a moment, he thinks that Gran has fallen asleep, until he finally stirs and takes the proffered mug with slightly shaking hands.

 

“Yeah, I know. You want me to be in proper shape to fight and protect everyone,” Gran murmurs, taking a sip from the cup.

 

“That’s not it,” Percival says, with forcefulness that surprises even himself. At his side, he can feel Gran shift to look up at him. “I... want you to be healthy because you are important to me. I want you to walk at my side, regardless of whether you are able to bear arms for me or not.” 

 

When Percival allows himself to look down, he finds Gran gazing up at him with wide eyes, hair falling into his face. His face is tinted red, presumably from the lighting in the room. “Anyways,” Percival continues, forcing himself to look away, “it is the duty of a lord to take care of his vassals.”

 

Before Gran can respond, a little girl approaches them, drawn into herself out of nervousness.

 

“Yes, little girl?” Percival prompts.

 

“Um… Are you Sir Percival?” 

 

Percival blinks, caught off-guard. “Yes. What is the matter?”

 

“You and the guy next to you… my daddy told me that you saved us from some bad people,” the girl says, voice quavering. “He used to never be home with me and my brothers and mommy because he was always working with them. Now he can come back and play with us whenever he wants.”

 

He can feel Gran draw closer towards him. “I’m glad your daddy is home safe,” Percival replies. The girl smiles shyly at them and nods, fiddling with the edge of her skirt. In the next moment, an older man rushes up behind her, clearly embarrassed.

 

“I’m so sorry to interrupt you,” he says, bending down to pick up the little girl. “I… we really just appreciate what you’ve done for us. All of us.”

 

“We couldn’t just stand by,” Gran tells the man. Despite his earlier weakness, his voice is clear, eyes filled with that determination Percival saw in them when they first met all those months ago. Percival’s heart thuds with pride.

 

“Daddy, daddy,” two voices chime from behind the man, revealed in the next moment to belong to a pair of small children crowding around and tugging at their father’s pants. “We want to go outside and make snowmen! Can we?”

 

The man bows deeply a few times before ushering his children away towards the door. Their screams of delight reach all the way to the corner Percival and Gran are tucked into.

 

“I understand why you want to run your own country now,” Gran says softly, after the children’s voices have died down. His expression is complex, eyes gazing somewhere faraway. He seems to snap out of it in the next moment, and he offers Percival a small grin. “It feels good to see people like that.”

 

“I remember that man. He was one of the townspeople who tried to fight off the bandits,” Percival says. “He seems to care deeply about his children.”

 

Percival stares out at the lively tavern. “Whenever I falter in my mission, I remember moments like this. How many families like this did we save? How many more could we protect? Who could say, then, that my path is unjust?” The words come from somewhere deep within him, born from some fire he’s carried along with him.

 

When Percival looks back at Gran, he understands where that fire is. He sees it burning in Gran’s, and knows it’s a reflection of his own.

 

They don’t exchange words for the rest of the evening until they board the Grancypher again. There’s no need.

 

* * *

 

 

Percival finds himself unable to sleep later that night.

 

His thoughts race in circles, flitting from visions of his childhood to his brother’s face, twisted into a smirk, to Gran, loyal, trusting Gran, dyed in his own blood because  _ Percival wasn’t strong enough _ .

 

It’s an hour of this before he finally gives up on sleeping. He decides to head to the deck to get some fresh air, cracking open Gran’s door as he passes by to check on him. It’s asinine; having a nightmarish half-dream about Gran getting hurt ( _ killed _ ) doesn’t mean that Gran will be anything but sleeping peacefully in his bed like he always is. Yet he checks anyways.

 

This time, however, Gran is absent from his usual place beside Lyria and Vyrn.

 

Percival gently shuts the door and walks as quickly as he can to the deck without waking up any of the other crew members. His blood runs cold when he hears the sound of gentle, suppressed sobbing that could only belong to one person.

 

Gran is near the front of the airship, tucked into himself with his back turned to Percival. The full moon above bathes him in moonlight — Percival might have thought the scene beautiful if his entire body wasn’t tight with worry. He approaches quietly, not wanting to startle him.

 

When Percival gets within touching distance, he almost murmurs ‘vassal’ before he stops himself.

 

“Gran.”

 

Gran jerks up from where he had his head buried in his knees, moonlight glinting off the tear streaks on his face. “Percy-san? What are you doing awake?”

 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Percival replies. “May I sit?” He gestures to an open spot on the floor.

 

“Yeah.” Percival pretends not to notice Gran scrubbing at his face. He deserves that dignity.

 

What feels like hours pass by with just the two of them sitting together in silence. Gran is curled into himself as tightly as he can. He looks vulnerable, so vulnerable. Percival forces himself to push away the urge to hold him close and comfort him, to ask him what is wrong and turn whatever hurt him to ashes.

 

“Why were you crying?” Percival asks eventually, keeping his eyes fixed on the stars and not on Gran.

 

“...It’s a stupid reason,” Gran replies quietly, voice still thick. 

 

“So it may be,” Percival says. “Tell me anyways.”

 

Gran pauses, taking in a shaky breath. “I don’t know. So many people in this crew have suffered so badly. A lot of them lost everything. But they keep going, they keep fighting. Siegfried-san got framed, his country destroyed. Io lost her parents. I don’t have a right to say anything.”

 

“My brother thought the same way,” Percival offers. “He saw endless suffering. We all did. So he shut himself away. He thought that pain could be ranked like soldiers or fighters, that some tragedy could be overlooked and forgotten for others.”

 

He hears Gran take in a deep breath beside him. “But I disagree. Perhaps there are people out there who have lost more, hurt more. But every person’s suffering matters. Nobody deserves to bear it alone.” Percival shifts. His hand brushes Gran’s. “Tell me?”

 

Gran is quiet for a few moments before he replies. “I was thinking about that family in the tavern. How you… how we saved them. You said something about how much that father cared. It just made me think…”

 

He falters at the end of his sentence. Percival gently nudges him to continue. “Think what?”

 

“It made me think about my own family. That town reminded me so much of my hometown, Zinkenstill. I kept thinking, ‘why couldn’t I be born into a normal family like that?’”

 

Percival looks at Gran and sees his eyes cast to the floor of the deck, worrying his lip with his teeth.

 

“I’ve been chasing my dad for years. I never really knew him, even as a kid. I had a mom, but she was…” Gran sighs. “And I had Vyrn, too. But I’ve always been so alone. I never really had a real family. I still don’t. On this journey, I’ve found a lot of answers. But they’re never the answers  _ I _ want. I still don’t know anything about me, about my family, about Lyria. Maybe I’ll never find my dad. Maybe I’ll never know who I am.”

 

Gran’s voice breaks at the last sentence, sending fresh tears streaming down his face. Percival’s heart drops into his stomach. He can’t, doesn’t want to hold himself back from tugging Gran close and holding him, running his hand through Gran’s hair soothingly. So he lets Gran cry. He lets Gran cry like nobody let him.

 

“You don’t need to know your family to know who you are. My brothers let our family decide their fate, but I have forged my own. And so will you. How many people have you helped? All the suffering, in this crew alone, that you eased? That is who you are.”

 

“I didn’t go on this journey because I just wanted to help people,” Gran confides. “Lyria is the kind one. I just went with it. I’m gathering all these legendary weapons and amazing powers  _ but I don’t want any of it _ .” He chokes out a wet laugh. “Isn’t that stupid? So many people would give their lives for even a fraction of what I have. If I didn’t, maybe that family wouldn’t be there. Percy-san, you use your strength to help people because you want to. Because you’re a good person. I’m not—I can’t—”

 

“—You can, and you do,” Percival interjects, cutting Gran off. “You remember when we first met, didn’t you? You went out of your way to give that family some food, just because you could. I was too occupied with the vast scale of things that I couldn’t stop to see what was in front of me. Too occupied with what I could do on my own that I couldn’t see that I could do so much more with other people at my side.” Percival isn’t used to being so forthright, his voice scratchy as he speaks, but he needs Gran to understand.

 

“In every town, it’s always the same. You see suffering, and you help, like it’s breathing. You helped me more than you could ever know.”

 

Percival can feel his own throat growing tight. When Gran lifts his head, his expression shockingly open, he sees himself, young and afraid, bound by the chains of his family and scared of not being good enough.

 

“Gran,” he says, “I cannot promise that you will find your father. But you have people here that care for you far more than someone who abandoned you could. I promise you, when I have my country, there will always be a place for you there, by my side, my most loyal vassal.”

 

Gran nods quietly, and finally, he cracks a tiny smile. Percival reaches out and uses his sleeves to wipe away the stray tear streaks on Gran’s face.

 

“When I am ready to run my country, you will have a family. If you haven’t found yours, we can make one together.”

 

“Percy-san,” Gran says softly. He presses their heads together gently, noses just barely touching. “Thank you.”

 

“It’s my duty,” Percival replies, voice now thick with embarrassment at his own words rather than the threat of tears. “Your hands are freezing. All that effort into keeping you warm, and you sit out here in the winter chill? Ridiculous. Here,” he says, summoning a small flame. He loops an arm around Gran and adjusts their position, firmly ignoring how Gran leans his head on Percival’s shoulder. “If you want to sleep, sleep.”

 

Gran says nothing, but soon his breathing turns even and soft against Percival’s neck. Percival allows himself, then, to lean his head against Gran’s.

 

Perhaps his own kingdom may be a long ways away. But this is a start.

**Author's Note:**

> you can read this as romantic or familial i don't care *sips respecting percival juice*


End file.
